


Some Kind of Home

by solitariusvirtus, tenten_d



Series: The Long Road Home [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, F/M, Middle Ages, Politics, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-25 12:55:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3811315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solitariusvirtus/pseuds/solitariusvirtus, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenten_d/pseuds/tenten_d
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Dragonstone, Prince Rhaegar and his she-wolf wife isolate themselves from the players of the game for a little while. But the realm has never relinquished any of the players graciously. </p><p>In King's Landing, a crafty Lord Hand has seen to it that his daughter, the fair Cersei Lannnister, is to have a royal spouse. All his work seems to be finally paying off. In the North, Lord Rickard seeks to gain allies from other great families of the South. Dorne is silent, perhaps the most worrisome of all.</p><p>It is time for the game to commence once more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. i. Lyanna I

**Author's Note:**

> So, here is the beginning of the new "act" I promised.

A sigh made its way past her lips as disappointment wormed its way into her heart. Lyanna had tried not to be too disheartened at the news, yet she found that even the most cheerful of thoughts paled in comparison to her current problem. “Is there, then, something wrong with me, maester?” It could be little else, she thought bleakly.

“Your Grace worries over naught,” the slightly rough voice of the maester reached her ears. “It had only been just half a dozen moon turns since you have become a wife. ‘Tis not at all strange for a woman not to conceive so soon. In fact, Your Grace, ‘tis better than you do not conceive at all for the next couple of years.”

A shudder ran down Lyanna’s spine. “What words are those, maester?” she demanded, her voice quiet and steely.

The man had the audacity to laugh. “Your Grace is but three and ten yet. ‘Tis a very young age to consider motherhood.” She was nearly four and ten but it made no matter,

“It is old enough,” Lyanna countered, rising from her chair in one swift motion. “So you say there be nothing wrong with me?”

“Not at all, Your Grace. But if it is your wish to conceive, then there are tonics which might help.” Having caught her attention once more, Maester Orwyl, placed a hand upon her shoulder. “If Your Grace so wishes, I shall procure some.”

“I shall think upon it,” Lyanna said in the end. She did wish for a child, but she would not make any decision in that sense upon a moment’s consideration. “You have said so yourself, maester, I am but at the very beginning of my life as wife.”

She left the maester’s small room and found her way upon the winding stairs. Her hand searched carefully for the railing that her husband had had installed along the wall. She caught onto it and began the arduous journey down the steps. It was a steep road the one she travelled. Lyanna had at times thought the stairs in King’s Landing a danger to her health and general wellbeing. How wrong she had been. The steps at Dragonstone were twice as dangerous. Along the years the stone, which Ashara had told her was black in colour, had been polished by the many men and women who had passed over them to the point where they were slippery and unsafe. One thing Lyanna had come to find was that the thrill of danger lasted for mere moments in the face of consequences.

Thankfully enough, six moon turns were enough time for her to learn the most travelled routes of the keep and familiarise herself enough with those which only some travelled. Dragonstone was not quite as she had expected. Rocky shores and small vegetation, harsh winds and the permanent taste of salt in the air, that was her new home. Ashara had described the keep to her once. She had spoken of wyverns and hellhounds, tall and massive. Those were the guardians of the keep.

It was awe-inspiring, magnificent, imposing and horrific at the same time. To Lyanna it was the atmosphere rather than the words of her companions. Lady Mina Tyrell had actually grasped and shuddered next to Lyanna. Lady Dacey Mormont had been most impressed by the sculptures, but she had found it in herself to express it in a way that did not suggested she had need of a maester.

It was truly different, being a wedded woman. She had thought her life would be a constant of liveliness and excitement and fun. But Lyanna found that along with her privilege came responsibility. Rhaegar, she knew, would have arranged everything so she was never bothered by anything. But Lyanna would not hear of it. She had told him time and time again that she did not need coddling and she did not. In that spirit, she had demanded that she be allowed to administrate the keep alongside Maester Orwyl until she found her footing and then on her own.

The good maester had much to teach her. For to know in theory was one thing, but to have her husband’s people come to her with various problems was quite another. Where one might add that once understanding she was not quite like any other woman, they would sometimes shrink back from her. Lyanna was determined to prove that she was as good as anyone else.

“Your Grace, there you are,” Mina Tyrell’s voice reached her ears. “We have been looking for you. It is bad form to disappear like that on us.”

Laughter bubbled upon her lips at Lady Mina’s annoyance. “There, there, my lady. Here I am. Were you worried?” Her jest lightened Mina’s mood enough to have the woman laughing too. “What is it that you wish to tell me?”

“Only that His Grace will see you in his solar as soon as you may reach it,” Mina informed her, linking their arms together and patting her arms gently. “I fear he is not in the best of mood, Your Grace. There have been rumours, as you well know.”

“Aye, I know,” Lyanna sighed. Various rumours had come their way for the past couple of moon turns. It seemed that the Lord Hand was pressing to have his daughter wedded too. It seemed that Cersei Lannister would become her good-sister. Lyanna did not know what to think of it. “Let us be on our way, Lady Tyrell.”

Without doubt, it had to be one of those worrisome pieces of news that was rather rumour than truth. But Lyanna was anxious to hear what her husband had found out. She hurried her pace and Mina Tyrell followed suit.

Her husband’s solar was a large, airy room where he could usually be found until late in the night, poring over documents and letters and generally keeping his domain running. It was much work. And Lyanna was proud to know he did not shirk his duty.

At the foot of the stairs that led to the solar, young Dacey Mormont was waiting for them. “Your Grace forgot her shawl,” the young girl said, placing the broad embroidered cloth around Lyanna’s shoulders. “It would be a pity if Your Grace should catch a chill once more.”

With that Lyanna could but agree. She did not wish to be ill again if it could be helped. She had only just managed to rid herself of the coughs and runny nose, a sight she was sure that inspired no grand passion. It was a dreadful state and she would be happy if she could avoid it for the next fifty years or so. Lyanna smiled to herself and began climbing the stairs.

Mina and Dacey had remained at the foot of the stairs and there they would continue to stay until she entered Rhaegar’s solar. After that, Lyanna was certain they would find something to occupy their time with. She continued taking one step after another, her hand holding onto the railing.

***

She heard the rustling of papers being moved about and the scraping of quill on paper. Lyanna cleared her throat lightly. Rhaegar would at times get so caught up in his work that he forgot all about the world around him. That, Lyanna thought, would be her only complaint to her husband’s diligence.

“Ah, you are finally arrived,” he husband spoke, presumably having looked up from his many papers. “Come, Lyanna, sit by me.”

Lyanna moved about gently, stepping forward until she touched the edge of the table. Her fingers glided against it as she walked around the table. One long arm wrapped around her middle. It seemed she would be sitting even closer to her husband than she though. A small smile bloomed on her lips. She allowed him to pull her atop of him, resting her weight on one of his knees.

When she was a child he would do so too. Of course, at that time it had been a fond gesture among almost-siblings. It was quite different from what she knew it to mean as a young woman. “You have thrown my ladies in despair, Rhaegar, They have been running all around looking for me. What is so important that it could not wait a moment longer?”

“This,” he replied and them glided his lips against hers. Lyanna had not expected it. She was however not opposed to it either. The all too familiar fluttering began in her stomach, twisting and turning. She caught his face gently in her palms. He had a way with her.

“Ah, that,” she offered weakly after their lips parted. “I daresay ‘twas not so urgent.”

His grip tightened around her. “A letter has arrived from King’s Landing,” he supplied. “It seems that father is truly prepared to go forth with that scheme and have Daeron married to Cersei Lannister.”

Lyanna’s shoulders dropped. “Perhaps they shall be happy together, Rhaegar. After all, his dislike of Cersei was the feeling of a child. Has any announcement been made?”

“Nay, but it seems that Lord Whent shall be holding a tourney soon. Father wished to make it known there.” He did seem truly displeased. Lyanna bit down upon her lip. “It is the perfect opportunity to do so.”

“Then there is still time,” Lyanna told him. “But I do not understand it. Why should this match displease you do? Would it not appease the Lord Hand for the time being and ensure peace?”

“Tywin Lannister does not want a husband for his daughter. He wishes for her to have a crown,” he reminded her gently. “If Cersei becomes Daeron’s wife we will have no peace at all. Those lions will plot and scheme without rest to gain power.”

“Then we must put an end to the betrothal,” Lyanna concluded, leaning against his chest. “Cersei will undoubtedly be at Lord Whent’s tourney if it is as you say. I shall see what I can do.” Very few thing could break a betrothal. Lyanna would have to consider the matters carefully if she was to obtain success.

But for Rhaegar she would do it. She would do anything for him. “Is there any other news from King’s Landing? Something that shall bring less strain?”

“Nay, nothing. But your brother has written. He has reached Winterfell safely and should all go well he will return shortly.” Rhaegar kissed the top of her head. “He truly means to wed Lady Ashara, does he not?” She sighed softly. “It is a pity Brandon’s betrothal with Lady Catelyn Tully fell through though.”

“Lord Tully offered his youngest daughter, did he not?” Rhaegar questioned.

“Aye, but father would not hear of it. It seems that Catelyn Tully is to wed Robert Baratheon and that is that. And I was so pleased with the match. Lady Catelyn is spoken of in the best of terms by all who know her. I would have been delighted to have her for a good-sister. She would have been a positive influence on Brandon.”

The gods knew her brother had needed that. But it seemed he would not be having it. While Lyanna was certain a match could be found for Brandon given time, she feared her brother would do something foolish and destroy any chance of it. He’d been known to be obstinate to the point of foolishness before.

“Perhaps your father should turn his attention upon the daughters of his bannermen. A suitable lady may be found there,” Rhaegar offered.

“For some reason, father is determined to have all his sons wedded outside of the North.” Lyanna would never truly understand it. Shortly after her marriage, it seemed that her father’s attitude towards her changed. He no longer loathed her, but seemed to wish to aid her. And for that reason, he had begun looking for prospective brides in the South. “I think father has the right of it though. These alliances are needed.”

“So they are,” her husband agreed.

“I can hardly wait to hear who father had found for Benjen though. Out of all my brothers, he is the one trying the hardest not to get caught in this scheme.” She laughed. “I daresay he would do well to keep himself for the Kingsguard.”

“A wise consideration, wife.” Rhaegar hoisted her up in his arms and Lyanna, knowing exactly where it would lead, jestingly pushed at his shoulders. “None of that,” he laughed.

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked, barely able to keep her own amusement from seeping into the words.

“What do you think it is, wife?” She heard the creaking of the door as it opened.

“’Tis the middle of the day,” she countered.

“I care not,” came his reply. “The hours are too long until the moon is upon the sky.”

On that they both agreed. Lyanna tittered, excitement rolling through her. She tried to shift in his hold, but Rhaegar tightened his grip warningly. “We are upon the stairs,” he said. “Anyone could happen by.”

She had little doubt that he had more self control than that, but Lyanna took his words in good-naturedly and settled down in his hold. Another door was opened soon enough and then it shut with a soft sound.

Underneath her cool sheets rested in a few moments longer. Lyanna felt Rhaegar’s hand take hold on her ankle. She could not help the smile that came upon her face. “It seems I am at your mercy,” she said.

“You seem to think I have any,” he countered.

“Tyrant,” Lyanna laughed.

***

Lady Ashara brushed her hair with careful strokes and continued her tale. “And so, my brother is certain that it would be best for all involved if Aegon and Jaehaerys were not allowed to sit one next to the other during such important moments.”

Lyanna had known all those pets would be trouble. “I am only thankful that Viserys’ dragonling did not escape its cage again.”

Viserys had requested a dragon, Lyanna had been told by the boy himself. Through some magic unknown to her, the King and Queen had procured for him what was called the Common Dragon. It was a beast that hailed from Essos, from deep within the continent. It must have cost a small fortune, she imagined, and according to the letters she had received it truly did resemble a dragon.

“I suppose poor Lord Giles would have not been able to survive through another episode of it crawling in his lap in search of food,” Ashara laughed.

That was one of the more famous escapades. One day, not very long after having received his gift, it occurred to Viserys to train his pet. Unfortunately, the pet had had other ideas. In vain had Viserys tried to catch it. The dragon escaped his every attempt and somehow found its way into the King’s hall. There it produced quite some havoc, the Queen’s letter had related, by knocking Lord Giles Rosby over and climbing in his lap. The Queen was certain the beast had been searching for food. Lord Rosby thought it an attempt on his life.

Amusing as the story had been, Viserys had not been allowed afterwards to let his reptilian friend out of the cage without proper supervision. A pity truly, Lyanna considered, for she would have liked to hear more about such adventured.

“In other news,” Ashara went on, “it seems that that cat finally managed to snatch one of the canaries and make off with it. That too, you can imagine, caused quite a stir.”

“If you mean it caused tears and anguish, then I do believe you,” Lyanna said. “The poor bird.”

“Quite so. My brother writes that there is to be a tourney soon,” Ashara said. “He wonders if I might be allowed to go.”

“Your brother will have to wonder a bit longer, Lady Ashara,” Lyanna informed her calmly. “The King has written to my husband about this tourney at Harrenhal. We shall be, of course, going. But there is no reason to make it known yet.”

“I suppose there isn’t,” Ashara agreed after a few moments of silence. Lyanna quite liked the woman’s sense of humour. It was perhaps less morbid than her own, but Lady Ashara did a fine job with her jests. “Your Grace, I was wondering if I might ask after your brother. Is there no news yet?”

At that Lyanna had to smile. How worried Lady Ashara was. She did understand. She supposed that if Rhaegar were away she would not be half as composed as Ashara Dayne was. “My brother is fine from what I’ve gathered. He has reached Winterfell and I reckon he’ll be back soon enough if nothing gets in his way.”

“Thanked be the Seven,” Ashara said. “And the old gods.”

“I fear you have strayed quite far from home, Lady Dayne. Whatever shall you do in the cold North?” Lyanna jested.

“Why, I believe I shall be warm enough, Your Grace,” Ashara returned with just a hint of impertinence.

Dorne was not quite like the rest of the kingdoms. Lyanna had never questioned Ashara’s state of being. She had always assumed that if her brother had chosen her, it was because he truly thought her worthy. And she was a good and kind woman. Yet one had to wonder. It made little matter. But it was a curiosity.

“Lady Ashara, have you been courted in your father’s home?” she asked.

“It would be a lie to say nay, Your Grace. There had been suitors enough,” Ashara replied, gently dividing her hair so as to better braid it. “Had I not had two strapping brother, I am sure there would have been many more,” she laughed.

“Ah, brother, more trouble at times then they are worth,” Lyanna confessed lightly. She heard Ashara’s hum of agreement. “But you chose none of them. Were they not appropriate?”

“Becoming a wife has never been one of my pressing concerns,” Ashara disclosed. “Perhaps I should not be saying this, but I thought to wed only the man who saw beneath my station and whatever nature has given me. I wanted a man who loved me truly.”

“And my brother, you think to be that man,” came Lyanna’s mussing. “That is all good and well, my lady, but tell me this, do you love him in equal measure?”

“I love him as truly as a woman ever loved a man. You needn’t worry, Your Grace, for the safety of your brother’s heart.” Lyanna felt a wave of emotion crash into her at those words. Tears stung her eyes. She took a deep breath and held them at bay. Ashara continued, “I think you would understand my meaning best.”

“And you would not be wrong to think so,” Lyanna assured her. “I am glad my brother has found you, Lady Ashara, and I shall be even merrier when he returns, for you and for him as well.”

“Your Grace, I was hoping to discuss something else with you as well,” Ashara prompted.

“Well, of course, you may,” Lyanna allowed. “Go on then, Lady Dayne.”

After a few moments of hesitation, which Lyanna found truly unnerving, as Ashara and she knew one another well enough that such moments were usually successfully avoided, her companion did speak. “I know ‘tis not done, but I was wondering if Your Grace would not be better served should Eddard and I remain here, on Dragonstone. I should loathe to part from you.” And leave her with Mina, who for all her sweetness was not exactly the brightest candle in any room. Lyanna understood her meaning perfectly. She was, however, quite helpless in that matter.

“Lady Dayne, a wife must stay with her husband. And given that my brother shall undoubtedly receive a keep of his own, you shall have to go with him.” A smile lit her face though. “It is for the best. I promise I shall remember you when the time comes for it.”

“You are ever so gracious,” Ashara said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, you've had some news, some plots and schemes and even a little bit of foreshadowing. Hopefully, this will keep you happy enough for a week or so until I can write down the next chapter.
> 
> A fair warning though, this story will probably be darker than the first part. So, be prepared.
> 
> That aside, did you like? Thoughts, complaints, death threats should be submitted in the comment section. And also kudos if you feel like it. 
> 
> Until next time, then. :)


	2. ii. Catelyn I

“He is so handsome,” Lysa spoke softly, her slight frame twisting beneath the covers. “Oh, Cat, those blue, blue eyes and the raven hair. Isn’t he just the handsomest?” her younger sister asked. “I daresay there is not man handsomer than he.

Catelyn could not answer. Aye, he was certainly handsome, but she had liked Brandon Stark much better. She wisely kept her counsel upon that matter. Her sister, however, could not be deterred by her silence. Lysa giggled, her mind filled with nothing but Robert Baratheon. “Brandon is as nothing next to him. Cat, did you see how he took those squires down.”

Those squires had been half his size. Catelyn had failed to be impressed. Lysa, however, seemed to have been charmed. “I saw,” she answered nonetheless. “Lysa, pray speak of him no longer.”

“Of Brandon? Sister, it was boorish of him to abandon you, certainly, but I daresay he merits mentioning if only to be remembered in the proper light. Fear not, I shan’t forgive him, though.” Her sister could be such a child at times that even Catelyn lost her patience.

Brandon had not abandoned her. It was all father’s fault. He has accused Lord Stark of trying to fleece him of money when they negotiated her dowry. Understandably, Lord Stark had been insulted. He had insinuated something about her father being a greedy creature. Her own father had retaliated by threatening to end the wedding negotiations. Lord Stark allowed that, given the circumstances, he too might look elsewhere. Incensed her father assured him that if he did, Catelyn would not be waiting for his son. So it had come, from a very ridiculous argument, that she had lost her betrothed.

And Robert Baratheon was a poor replacement. He was handsome and strong, but at the same time, he lacked something that Brandon hadn’t. He lacked a very distinctive feature which Catelyn would never overlook the absence of. She just wanted Brandon back. Catelyn was so wretched she might have wept bitter tears of frustration then and there, but with Lysa so close by, her sister would not miss it. And Lysa did not understand. The poor child could not see beyond Robert and his charming smile. It was the saddest situation yet.

Why couldn’t her father just reconcile with Rickard Stark and allow her to wed Brandon as they had discussed? She had been so very pleased when he had come to Riverrun with his pale blue eyes and a daring and shy smile by turns. He had held her hand and walked with her through the gardens, telling her about Winterfell. Catelyn wanted that. She wanted Winterfell and Brandon and little children running around, calling her mother and crawling into their father’s lap.      

“You mustn’t be cross with Brandon,” she told her sister in the end. “He could not help his father’s decision.” More the pity to that. “He is a good man and I wish him well, Lysa, and so should you.”

“Once you’re the Lady of Storm’s End you’ll forget all about Brandon Stark and his measly Winterfell,” Lysa assured her, giggling into her pillow.

“That is quite some time you’ll have me waiting,” she replied dryly. Lord Baratheon was well and alive, not likely to go to the Stranger anytime soon. Not that Catelyn actually thought for even one moment that Storm’s End would compensate for the sort of husband Robert Baratheon would be.

“Do you think father might allow me to visit Storm’s End after you have move d there? I should like to see it myself.” A dubious sentiment at best. Certain that her sister did not mean it, Catelyn shrugged which Lysa took for an assent. “Juts think, Cat, you shall have a beautiful wedding to a handsome lord. I am filled with such joy for you.”

If only she could exchange places with Lysa. Catelyn instantly regretted that thought. Someone like Robert would crush her poor sister’s heart to dust. She would not allow Lysa to be hurt, not knowingly anyway. “You too shall have such a husband, Lysa. Father is thinking of Jaime Lannister.”

It should have been a surprise, but as the words had already left her mouth, Catelyn could not regret having said them. Her sister made a high pitched sound that expressed her happiness with such a notion. At least Lysa would be pleased with her match.

“Truly, Cat, you mean it? Jaime Lannister?” Her hand searched for her sister’s beneath the covering. They entwined fingers. “I have heard he is handsome, beautiful as the rising sun. Do you reckon it is true?”

Catelyn would have been more worried for the man’s nature. “Aye, I think it’s true enough.” Lysa would know better. Catelyn rarely cared to listen to gossip. She was forever concerning herself with the problems of the keep. “Father will see to inviting him here and then, of course, he’ll be charmed by you. I doubt any man could look at you and not fall in love.”

“Oh, Cat, how good you are to me. But, of course, you can afford to, as you have already found your own husband. I do hope Jaime will like me as you say, though. I should enjoy being Lady of Casterly Rock.” Catelyn refrained from commenting. “Do you think we might wed our oldest son and daughter between the two of us? Wouldn’t that be a splendid match?”

Struggling to mask her shudder at the thought of birthing Robert children, knowing all too well what it implied besides, Catelyn managed a weak agreement, for the sake of her sister’s dreams. “It would please me like nothing else.”

“I shan’t tell Jaime Lannister a word of it, though. He’ll learn only after out children are born. You must swear to do the same with your husband.” Lysa’s fingers nearly crushed her, so hard had her grip become. It seemed that she had planned most of her life.

“I promise you, Lysa,” Catelyn found herself saying. “None shall know, but you and I, until the right time comes.”

Mayhap if she spoke to father once more he might change his mind. Surely he would listen to her words. Father knew she had a good head on her shoulders. He had merely been too cross with Lord Stark to listen before. Catelyn did not sound convincing even in her own head. She allowed a soft sigh past her lips. She would not despair, she told herself. All was not yet lost. She just needed to catch father in a suitable mood and tell him what she thought of Robert Baratheon.

***

“I don’t like him, Cat,” Pertyr told her, his slight form so very close to her. “He is handsome enough, I’ll give him that. But have you seen what he did to poor Rosa?”

At least someone could understand her dislike for Robert Baratheon. Comforted in that, Catelyn looked up from her sewing. No matter how much she agreed, Robert was a guest. “Hush, Petyr. Do not speak so of my father’s guest.”

Father was cross at Petyr as it was. Catelyn had not managed to understand why yet, but she knew it by the way he looked at the boy. Had he perhaps caught him kissing Lysa? That happened sometimes, a child’s game. They had done it since they were no more than little children, running wild together. Lysa had taken more of a fancy to the game than Catelyn ever did and Petyr was forever indulging her. They were like siblings

“Cat, you have to listen to me. Convince your father he is not the right match for you.” Petyr placed a hand upon hers, squeezing lightly. “I know you, you would be unhappy with such a man. Pray listen to your old friend. I only want what is best for you.”

“I know,” she replied, giving him a small smile. “And I am grateful for that, more than you know. But for the moment, I am powerless in this matter.”

She had tried speaking to father. Hoster Tully had given her a long, cold look and informed her that Robert Baratheon was of a good family, an old name and full coffers, and she would do well not to look a gift horse in the mouth. That was his way of saying that she should just be pleased with the great care he had put in finding her a mate. Well, Catelyn was not pleased. She had been sorely tempted to point out that the Stark name was older, that their coffers were just as large and that she wanted Brandon and not Robert. But she had held her tongue. Family and duty were pushing her towards Robert; honour would follow soon.

“Then run away with me, Cat,” Petyr said suddenly, breaking through the haze that had fallen over her. “I could take you away. To the Fingers. We would be safe there.” He looked at her pleadingly. Catelyn felt a blush rising to her cheeks. “Say you will, Cat.”

“Oh, Petyr,” she sighed. “You are a very goof friend, but I could never.” She sensed his infatuation. But father had told her she was not to encourage him. Besides, what would Lysa think, fond as she was of Petyr, if Catelyn ran away with him? “Father would find us and he would punish you.”

“He could do nothing to us if you were to wed me,” the boy pointed out. “Would that not please you? You would not have to wed Robert Baratheon then.”

“Leave off, Petyr,” she murmured gently. Family, duty, honour, she reminded herself. “I am to do my duty, and will not hear anything more on the subject.” She stood to her feet, drawing her work to her chest.

It was at that point that her nightmare came striding in the gardens. “Fair Catelyn, so this is where you’ve hidden,” Robert’s voice boomed, startling her with its intensity. He conveniently ignored Petyr and came closer to her. “You cruel, cruel woman, I have been searching for you.”

“And not you have found me, my lord,” Catelyn said in a voice she could not even recognise as her own, so cold it was.

Baratheon must have taken it for shyness, and her stiff fingers as well, for he pried away her sewing and threw it to a stunned Petyr. “Carry this for the lady, will you, lad? Walk with me, beautiful Cat.”

She was forced into step with him. Catelyn threw a look to Petyr over her shoulder, asking him for forgiveness. “Pray take those to my bedchamber, Petyr.” Her friend gave a short nod, his face darkening. She prayed he would not cause trouble for himself.

“It is such a lovely day, is it not?” Robert asked, by way of stimulating the somewhat lacking conversation between them.

“Aye, it is.” And it would have been much nicer if he were not around. She kept that thought to herself. “Is the weather at Storm’s End so, as well?” Aye, next she’d be asking him about what breed of horses were to be found there. Catelyn did not feel at all comfortable in his presence. There was something about the way he stared at her which made her stomach clench.

“Nay, ‘tis much stormier,” he laughed. “The sea is close by and it sparkles much like your eyes when the sun is upon it. You do have lovely eyes.” Said he who was looking somewhere lower. “I am glad father chose you, Catelyn Tully.”

To that she could but offer a shaky smile. She was not glad. They should have searched elsewhere for a bride for their son. “Are you planning to keep us company for a long time to come?” she found herself asking him.

He did not answer at once and, frightened, Catelyn looked at his face, thinking she might have upset him. But Robert had just stopped to admire Rose and Tala cutting flowers. “Riverrun has its charms, my lady,” he replied after his attention was back upon her, “alas, old Arryn will not appreciate a prolonged absence. I shall be returning within a fortnight to his keep.”

“I see,” she allowed her relief to be exteriorised. She could not wait until he was on his way. His departure would give her more happiness than his coming had. She would take care to wave him off as cheerfully as possible, consoled in the knowledge that for some time at least she would be free of him.

“You shall miss me, won’t you, Cat? For I know I shall miss you.” He leaned in to steal a kiss from her. Catelyn turned her head so his lips might land on her cheek. “Shy Cat,” he chuckled, turned her face towards him and pressing his lips to hers.

Aye she would truly miss scrambling for a hiding spot whenever she felt him near. Catelyn kept her lips firmly shut, trying to ignore his insistence. Robert finally pulled back after what seemed an interminable moment.

“Tell me you shall miss me,” he coaxed.

“I shall miss you,” Catelyn forced herself to say so she might please him.

“How sweet you are.” He went once more for her lips. Catelyn prayed he would stop his mauling and take her back to the keep soon.

***

“My lady,” Rose whispered softly, trying to discreetly get her attention. Catelyn looked over her shoulder at the servant girl, for a moment stopping midbrush. “I have something for you.”

“Why are you whispering?” Catelyn questioned, her own voice barely above a whisper.

Rose eyed the sleeping sister, who had sprawled herself on the bed. “’Tis only for you that the message that I have brought.” She came closer and pressed a small piece of paper into Catelyn’s hand. “Here, my lady, for you.”

Catelyn held the paper in her hand, half a heartbeat not very sure what to do. In the end curiosity won over her and she unfolded the slip of paper, looking at the neat writing taking form before her eyes. A gasp left her mouth. Catelyn brought a hand to cover her mouth, hoping to catch the sound. It escaped. That did not in the least make her surprise wane.

“Brandon Stark is here?” she asked, glancing up at the trembling servant girl.

Nodding her head, the girl spoke again, “He said that if you agreed, I should take you to him.”

She could not. Catelyn looked at Rose. To run away with him was unthinkable. She would upset father. Hadn’t she had the same consideration when Petyr asked her? And yet her heart tugged at her, pushing the voice of her conscience gently away. “I shall see him,” she said, before she could think any better on it, “only to tell him we cannot possibly do as he wishes.”

Rose shrugged. “Put a sturdy cloak on, my lady,” she advised, “he is not as close as you would imagine.”

Of course he was not. Impetuous he might be, but her Brandon was a smart man. Catelyn moved towards one of her trunks, extracting from it a travelling cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders. Rose was making sure Lysa truly slept. Her sister would not be waking soon, Catelyn thought. Glad for it, the older of the Tully siblings motioned for Rose that she was ready.

The servant led her to the stables where Catelyn prepared her horse for the road. The mare snorted, not at all pleased to have been woken up in the middle of the night. Rose would at first not accept to be pulled on the best, but Catelyn insisted and insisted until the girl could but give in. Together they rode for one of the gates where Rose knew her sweetheart was guarding. He was easily convinced to allow them out for a ride, if they promised to return before the first light of day.

Sure that it would be so, Catelyn had no hesitation in giving her word. Rose, she could feel, was hiding a smile. “You never know, my lady, your Northernman might yet sweep you off your feet. Don’t they steal their brides there, after all?”

If only. Catelyn shook her head and urged her horse into a gallop. Rose guided them to a spot where, indeed, a few men were waiting. Brandon was easy to recognise, towering over the others. The low light of their torches revealed the others to be close in looks to him.

“Cat,” he called to her upon noticing her. Brandon hurried to her, catching the reins of her palfrey. Her heart nearly jumped from her chest when their eyes met. “You came.” He tugged gently at her hand. “Come down,” he pleaded.

And she could not resist. Catelyn gave him her hand, allowing Brandon to help her down. Only she never quite reached the ground, for he wrapped her in his arms and clutched her to his chest. “Brandon,” she protested, “put me down.”

He laughed and allowed her back on her feet. “Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you.” She felt his hands at her waist. “I am so pleased to see you here that I forgot myself for a moment. You cannot know how happy you have made me.”

“Oh,” she nearly cried, “oh, Brandon, I cannot go with you. You must know it.” Her own arms wrapped around him. “Father will have me wedded to Robert Baratheon. It has been decided.” And how she wished it hadn’t been.

“Nay, that cannot be. Cat,” he cupped her face in his hands, “Cat, listen to me. It doesn’t matter what your father and Baratheon agreed upon. I want to know what you want. Do you wish to wed Baratheon?”

“Of course not,” she breathed out, feeling tears choking her. “I want you.” She hid her face away in his chest, hoping to mask her sadness thusly.

She felt his hand smoothing over her hair. “Then come with me. I will take you to Winterfell and you will be my wife. I want you as well, Cat, and I shan’t be pried away with such ease.”

“We cannot. My father would go to the King,” she told him, a dreadful fright gripping her heart. “He would order me back to Riverrun.” And then they would drag her by the hair to the altar where she would be made to swear vows to Robert Baratheon.

“He won’t. The King would never part us. Do you forget my sister is wife to the Prince. Lyanna will help us. Won’t she, Ned?” he yelled back to one of the other men.

Catelyn looked up to see him nod. Her attention snapped back to Brandon, hope shining in her eyes. He continued, ”I have written to her before coming here. Everything will be well so long as you accept. I cannot bear to think of you forced into a match you do not desire.”

With a short sob of relief she rose on her toes and pressed her lips to Brandon’s. He pulled her further into his, kissing her with matching passion. “I will. I will. Take me with you,” she said against his mouth.

“Gods, how I love you,” he whispered back. He pressed his forehead to hers. She could hear him breathing. “Did you truly think could just abandon you?” Had she know, in her heart, that he would never? Catelyn could not answer that.

“Brandon, we must leave,” another voice called. “Take you lady if she will have you and let us depart.”

“See, my lady?” Rose asked once Catelyn was back on her horse, “I told you they bear their wives away.”

Laughter bubbled on her lips, joyful and unbound. “So you have. I can never repay you, Rose.”

The servant smiled. “Be happy, my lady, and it shall be payment enough for me. Well, I must return now.”

She nodded her head and rode next to Brandon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, did you expect that?
> 
> How I love cheating Robert of brides. I have no shame.


	3. iii. Rhaegar I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time-skip

 

 

 

“The league of extraordinary heirs,” Lyanna jested, brushing a hand along the surface of the table in search for her cup. “Mayhap you should give it some more thought. I, for one, would not mind such an association.” At least someone was willing to ward of the awkwardness. Rhaegar could only hope he would continue on such a path.

But then, he needn’t have worried. Lyanna nodded to the rhythm of Elbert Arryn’s chuckle, having finally found what she’d been searching for. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but I suspect His Grace would have a thing or two to say about our loitering in his keep. Heirs though we may be, I confess it does not much to lessen our various commitments.”

“So I am given to understand,” his young wife sighed. “If only there were a possibility of enjoying the benefits of the position without worrying over its obligations. Alas, such is our world that we must invariably apply our skills to these matters. Such impediments aside, though, I feel that I must ask, and in good conscience apologise for not having done so sooner; how fares Lord Arryn?”

“As well as can be expected,” their guest shrugged. “One would not believe him to be a day over forty. And had I not known better, I would be tempted to say he’d bury us all. As I understood it, he planned to visit with Lord Stark.”

“With father?” Lyanna grasped. “That is most unexpected.”

“Why should that be?” Rhaegar finally intervened, mindlessly moving Lyanna’s cup out of the way when her hand threatened to knock it over. “The two of them have, to my understanding, been on good terms for the longest time. It stands to reason.” For all that, he was not unaware of Lyanna’s fears. Still, there could be little done at this point, so he simply patted her arm gently and returned his attention to Elbert.

The rest of the meal was spent in companionable chatter, their subjects never straying too far from the acceptable topics of such as the spending of leisure time, the roads, the weather. All of them designed to put each and every single soul at ease. It felt rather like a contest. Which of them could keep their mask on longest. If he were a betting man; the thought took flight almost as soon as it formed. Wagers were truly not something he should concern himself with.

“Shall we be seeing you at Lord Whent’s tourney?” he asked after the servants set about filling cups to the brim.

The young man had been equally busy downing the contents of the offering before he answered. “I would not miss it for the world, Your Grace. I seem to recall that you yourself are a skilled jouster. Might be I will have the good fortune of crossing lances with Your Grace.”

“That is a distinct possibility,” he acknowledged, wondering if he had seen Arryn joust before. If he had, he could not recall a thing. If he could not recall a thing, that meant no lasting impression had been made. Carefully, he ventures, “Have you a love for the sport?”

“Not as such.” The knight offered a brief smile. “But ‘tis a noble enough undertaking that I daren’t thumb my nose too hard at it, though I might not enjoy it as much as my forefathers would wish.”

“I am growing rather envious. Exponentially so by the minute,” his wife laughed. “All this talk of jousting, and I have been relegated to the position of listener. Methinks, good sers, that I am de trop in this conversation.”

“Never,” Rhaegar hurried to assure her, enjoying the consternation on their guest’s face. “And you are just as qualified to intervene as any of us. If not more so. Your see, my lady, when you wedded me, you gained beside a pretty title, a second advantage – that of always being right.”

“Always right, am I?” Lyanna sighed softly, her lips curling in an impish smile. “I am glad that you can see such obvious truths.” She did not exactly turn to Elbert before continuing, “This must not leave the four walls on this chamber, of course. It would simply be dreadful if anyone were to think he knows it, would it not?”

“Such care for your husband’s reputation,” the man offered, “can only be commended. Would that all men had the fortune of a wife your like.” At least he no longer looked prepared to bolt. Progress indeed. “However did you find her, Your Grace?”

“He rather had to. I would not have been able to find him,” came the dry response of his spouse, who was busily pressing her leg into his. “And, let us face the facts, he was truly fortunate. Not that I would ever point that out.”

“Indeed, she would not.” They laughed together at the theatrics. It was endearing, the manner in which she could fall right in line, while leading the conversation to wherever she willed it. “Now that we have elucidated this matter, I propose we return out attention to the jousts. Do not take it very hard, my love; I promise I shan’t insist too much upon it. Will this be your first joust?”

“It happens to be my first, aye. Your Grace would be well advised that Ser Brandon joins the lists as well.” Joyous news. Rhaegar would try to contain himself. “It seems to me your lady wife has an advantage.”

“Hardly. Brandon is just as likely to crown his mare,” Lyanna said nonplussed. “When Lord Bolton came acalling, I was most fortunate to her him describe that particular bond. It seems my brother would sooner be parted from his head than from his mare. I do not blame  him though, for I am told she is a beauty.”

“A gift from the Rills. And it is a magnificent beast. I swear I have never seen such an even-tempered horse. I would not blame my friend for bestowing a crown upon it in the least. As for Lord Bolton, Your Grace, I am much surprised he had anything good to say of your brother.”

Historical enemies, as it were. That did not necessarily translate into a kindled hatred. “I am much surprised when anyone had a good thing to say of my good-brother, but I take it we have very different reasonings, you and I, ser.”

“I find no fault with that either.” Elbert followed their cue and rose.

They retreated to another chamber, the two of them to speak, while Lyanna moved away, nearer to the hearth and was listening to Dacey. He left her to it and transferred his attention to the man who’d lost some of the ease which they’d cultivated at the supper table.

“I take it then that my good-brother has shared with you his desire to win the joust.” The words lingered between them, benign, but not entirely without an edge. “And what might he be planning?”

“The idea of winning brings him much joy, I cannot deny. As for how he plans to go about it, that is anyone’s guess. And indeed, Brandon is not so thick as to have spread the word. Why, doers Your Grace fear losing?”

“To Brandon Stark?” He would have laughed if that were an appropriate response. “I suppose he is a fine rider. But talent alone is not entirely sufficient. We shall see which of us the gods favour. There is little need to contemplate the matter too greatly.”

Conversation returned to blander topic, settling for aught which raised neither interest nor eyebrows. Thankfully, it also meant much expenditure was not required on Rhaegar’s part in order to keep up with the flow of it. Much to his delight, he found that he could also half-hear whatever it was Dacey read.

When finally came time for the guest to be released to his own privacy and left to devices best known to him, Lyanna simply left her seat and crossed the length of the chamber, a more or less subtle approach given she also uttered, “Loathe as I am to cut into this scintillating conversation, I dare do so on account of my perpetual correctness, as it were. My husband would keep us all here until sunrise, if he could, but I am more merciful and, dare I say, rightly so.”

“Someday soon, you yourself will have a wife, ser,” Rhaegar contributed with just a hint of speculation to his gaze, “and you will find out, in short order, that once a decision is made, which invariably shall be hears, it will be followed through with an assurance. This goes for all matters, even those mundane ones. As you can see, my wife is tired, therefore I must be tired as well. Therefore you see are.”

“Far be it from me to naysay the lady of the house. And in truth, I feel as though I could sleep for a thousand years.” And that was that.

Led away by a helpful servant, Elbert Arryn abandoned in his wake the couple. As did Lyanna’s companion at the dismissive wave of her hand. “I expect there is some explanation for this intrusion upon our peace,” she murmured after a short silence, leaning against his slightly. “Why would he not simply say it, though?”

“Sometimes, the truth is more complicated than that. Whatever the subject he means to broach, it is clearly aught he is not sure how to approach.” They sat back down by the fire together.

“That might well be; but he wastes his time and ours as well.” How very like her to think it wasted. Rhaegar chuckled. “Are you laughing at me, husband?”

“Do you truly feel as though we have wasted even a moment? I, for one, was only too pleased to the prospect of having my good fortune so thoroughly displayed.” He wound an arm around her shoulders and coaxed her closer. “And I‘ve found out your brother is plotting my defeat. Indeed, it seems to me time well-spent.”

“Sometimes I wonder if I shall ever regret not giving Brandon a well-deserved set down. Although I suppose he would feel obliged to give the crown if he won, no matter the charms of his mare. I am conflicted, husband.”

“I suppose it would have been too much to ask for unconditional support. Very well; I will take what scraps I can get.” To that she replied with a snort. “Trying to wheedle your way out of it, wife?”

“You have my unwavering support. Just know that if Brandon happens to win, and I am not saying I wish he would, he shall have my support as well. Besides, it is all the same to me, who wins and who does not; I am already in possession of the only title I shall ever need.”

“Crown Princess?” he questioned innocently.

“Your wife.”

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Is it morning?”  That question was the single reminder that while good things were thoroughly enjoyable, they tended not to last. Rhaegar smothered a yawn in the palm of his hand and cracked one eye open to, as it were, gauge the time. Lyanna, who was perfectly content to burrow deeper into him, made a point of hiding her face in his shoulder, just in case.

“Not that I can see,” he said, gathering her closer. One of her knees came dangerously close to robbing both of them of future pleasure as her whole frame jerked with movement. “Try to contain yourself, my love.”

She chuckled and brought her elbow down against his chest in a mock-slam. “You are the worst. Could you please let go?” By then she was squirming in his grasp, rather as if her struggle were a real tactic. And he supposed it had to be. A very pertinent point was made when she pressed against his shoulder. “I mean it.”

“I will never let go. I mean it too.” Nevertheless, he allowed her escape, closing his eyes as he felt her weight move from his side. There was the sound if footfalls against flagstone and then it muffled against the carpets.

“Did you move the carafe?” Lyanna called out.

Opening his eyes once more, Rhaegar scrutinised the darkness for his wife’s form. He found her somewhere near the wall, feeling along the stones. The table she was searching for was a few steps away. The carafe, however, was not in its customary place. Had he moved it? Rhaegar did not recall. He departed his comfortable position with a grunt. One of his arms experienced the existence of a pincushion as thousands of small needles pierced the skin, reminding him, beyond the shadows of a doubt, that actually allowing blood to flow through his limb was a good idea.

“I’ll find it. Just grab a cup.” He saw her nod, or suspected it was a nod. At any rate, she had moved and he took that for assent. Then began his hunt for the carafe of wine. Which was no easy feat given there was little light to go by and the ever present danger of knocking something over in the process.

The desired object had somehow found its way upon a low stool and made no protest at being hoisted up without much of a care. “Found it,” he announced for Lyanna’s benefit before turning around. His wife, ever more diligent in her pursuits, was already sitting upon the bed, cup in her lap, waiting for him with what looked to be a small smile. “I do not think I have ever met someone with whom I worked so well.”

He strode towards the bed and instructed her to hold the goblet up. “Do not move an inch.” The sound of liquid pouring forth from one recipient into another filled the otherwise quiet chamber. Might be if he were to listen carefully enough he would hear breathing as well.

A small yelp from Lyanna let him know that the chalice had been filled to refuse. “That is more than enough, I should think. Now I truly cannot move an inch.” Aught in her voice carried the teasing of reproach. But when spoken so sweetly, he could not take umbrage. Thus, his one intent to save her from further encounters with wine spilling over brims, Rhaegar leaned in and gulped down a mouthful of the contents.

“Never let it be said that I shirk my duty as a knight of the realm.” He climbed back into bed and drew the furs over them both. Lyanna was sipping on her wine, humming low in her throat. “This is so sweet.” He licked his lips, mildly bothered by the taste.

“Duty accomplished exceedingly well. I will ask for something less sweet next time, if you want. But this was something the master suggested I take.” She continued to drink the reminder of the contents, to the last, before placing the cup in his hands, ignoring his question in the process.

“The maester?” She placed the cup in his hands without a word. Rather than get out of bed a second time, he simply chose to lean over the edge and place the cup upon the floors, continuing the conversation. “You never said a thing. Are you unwell?”

“I am well.” Yet she had still visited with the master. Rhaegar was not entirely certain what to make of it. He regarded her with suspicion. “Do you truly think that if I were ill the maester would keep it from you? You know better than that.”

Did he indeed? “I know that I married a stubborn woman who was bitten by a snake and had the audacity to claim it was nothing. I know I married a woman capable to talking fear beasts into calm serenity–“

“Sixpence was not a wild beast,” Lyanna cut in.

“I was not talking about the dog. And I also happen to know relying on others is not to your liking. Correct me if I am wrong, but given the circumstances, I should think my worry natural.” At that she crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head vehemently.

“I will not deny any of your claims. Knowing you, that would only breed trouble. While I do find relying on others an annoyance, I am not so daft as to think I am invulnerable. And if I were ill, you would be the first to know. That I promise you.” Satisfying as it was to know she would not hide such matters for him, the question still remained. Why had she seen the master then?

Since no answer upon that was forthcoming, he saw the need to prod. “Then tell me what you went to see the master about.” Her teeth scraped against the lower lip. With enough force she could break the skin. “If you are not ill, then surely there is naught to fear.”

Before he could offer any further assurance that whatever was the reason of her seeing the maester, it made little matter in light of the fact that she was hale, his wife let out a whine-like sound seeming to deflate before his eyes. “Nay. I cannot say it. I truly cannot.” He blinked slowly, confusion suffusing his expression. “You will laugh.”

“I will not laugh.” That failed to coax a confession from her. “I solemnly swear not to laugh. Upon my honour.” She remained silent. “Upon the Seven-Pointed Star.”

“Your honour is good enough for me,” Lyanna murmured after much deliberation. “Just remember that you promised not to laugh. “ He nodded. ”Mina said that her mother had her first child within the first year of her marriage.”

“Indeed. And how is that our concern?” It might have to do with it being the wee hours, or the fact that sleep was not far off, but he failed to see what difference House Tyrell made in the whole matter regarding her own actions. Especially given the distressed he sensed just beneath the words.

“I knew you would not see it,” came the sigh from his side. “My problem is that I am finding myself not experiencing the same glad tidings. There, are you pleased now that you’ve made me say it?”

Not necessarily. What he was though was even more confused than before. “Are you saying you went to the master because you are not with child?” He waited for her reply. And waited. And waited. “Lyanna.” It seemed there was nothing for it but to drag the answer from her. “Did you see the master because you are not carrying?”

A mutinous little nod finally surfaced. He tried not to be astonished. Truly, he made a great effort of not allowing it to seep into his every pore. He did not find it amusing precisely, but he could conceive of how she would think the matter laughable in his eyes. What he did find it though was frightening. “That is a relief.” Clearly, she did not agree by the gasp she produced.

“It does not trouble you now, but what if I never manage it? You act as though you will never need an heir. On second thought, laughter would have been preferable to this.” Flopping onto her side, she faced away from him.

“That was not my meaning.” He touched a hand to her should but she simply pulled away. “We have years and years to fill up the nursery. My being glad is from a concern for you.  Mother was about your age when she gave birth to me. Look what it cost her.”

“That was the curse,” Lyanna offered grudgingly.

He sighed. “Curse or not, I am pleased you are without danger’s reach. And if the Seven never see fit to bless us with children, I have brothers aplenty.”

“But the prophecy–“

“Will be if it is meant to be. We need not rush anything. To be clear, lady wife, you are second to none and nothing in my eyes; least of all a prophecy. Am I clear?”          

    

 

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, it only takes about two years to get over over-flowing rage. Anyway, I decided to give the ol' trick a go and see if I can squeeze anything out of this one. Hopefully, age has brought me a bit of wisdom and self-control. I'll try not to rage-quit against for the next couple of years.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this.


End file.
